Reclaiming
by Cadey
Summary: Little by little, he must reclaim what was his, for he has returned. Unrepentant fluff, a hint of AU, and enough sap to make syrup.


Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I try to claim that Tigun and its relating things belong to me. I just enjoyed playing around in this universe. No ownie, no sue-y. 

Space was silent, and he liked it like that. There was nothing in space to disturb his thoughts, no one trying to kill him, no one to worry about except himself. A part of him ached to go back to land, to take risks, to let himself care about people again, to actually begin to live again. Only fear held him aloft, looking down on the dusty planet day after day. He looked out of one of the few windows on the lost-technology spacecraft and sighed. If he imagined hard enough, he would think that he was looking at the exact spot, that tiny speck of land he had left. Rubbing a gloved finger against the window, he closed his eyes and wondered. 

Dark hair and gray eyes sprung immediately to mind, and he had to wonder if she had left the place where he had left her, or if she had simply moved on. She was one of the few people to see behind the walls he had built. Her friend was another. A third still had seen behind them, but he could no longer see anything. His friends had become more like his family. 

A face floated past his mind's eye - a face from his memories, a kind, gentle face, one that as a child he had loved. He could, if he imagined hard enough, hear her whispering that it might possibly be time to go back. He sighed and took his hand away from the window. Perhaps he would go back - sometime. As he turned to walk away, he turned back and stared out the window again. That tiny speck of land had vanished, but he remained. 

Up here in space, his life was simple, uncomplicated, and almost serene. If he did decide to go back down, his life would be turned upside down within a matter of minutes. It would be full, unpredictable, and completely insane. He felt a tugging at his lips, and it took him a moment to realize that he was smiling. He didn't smile a lot anymore, for a lot of reasons. Friends dying, bounty hunters, his brother, Legato, it all came up here with him. He spent the first week up here literally crying day in, day out. Then he began to think. He thought about everything, until he had finally come to grips with the fact that nothing of it could be changed. He had become a killer, something he swore to Rem's memory never to become, and it took him some time before he accepted it. He abhorred it all the same, but he had accepted that there was nothing he could have done. 

He sighed and turned from the window once again. Maybe it was time to go back and start living again. Maybe it was time for him to take up the name again and keep preaching his message of love and peace. 

Vash the Stampede would be returning to the planet Gunsmoke. 

* * *

It wasn't hard to find _that_ place again, even amongst so much desert. What was hard was finding what he had so carelessly thrown away, thinking that he would never need it again. His gun was the easy one to find. It was almost as if he had a mystical connection to it. It took him nearly three days of digging, but he once again had his trusty gun with him. On the fourth day, the rising suns saw him walking away from a smoldering wreck, headed towards the nearest town with a simple bag slung over his shoulder, his long blonde hair left loose. 

It took him another five days to find what he was looking for. He found it, ironically enough, housed inside the local library, folded neatly with his amber-tinted glasses sitting on top of them. He asked the librarian for information about them. 

"You haven't heard about that son? That there jacket belonged to the one and only Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon. One day one of our local boys brought it to us, saying that it had blown into his family's farm. We all recognized it on sight, of course." 

"Of course," he replied, bemused. 

He knew that he needed the double dollars to get transportation to the next town, well over fifty iles away, so he wandered into the local saloon and got dealt into a 'friendly' game of poker, using the few double dollars he still had left as ante. Thanks to a sleepless night with Milly, he walked away from the table with over two hundred double dollars to his name. He stayed in the saloon until it was well after dark and the fifth moon had already risen. He took his leave of the saloon and snuck back into the library. There were no alarms, no security to get by, nothing stopping him from retrieving his coat. 

He left on the first bus out of town the early the next morning, the noticeable red coat safely placed inside his traveling bag. 

* * *

He reached the town he was looking for nearly a week later and he walked around town, looking for the church. When he finally found it, it was well after dark. He looked around at the multitude of crosses and sighed heavily. He knew that it was the right church. He suddenly gave a bark of laughter. 

"It figures that you would make me look for you, even in death." 

So he started his journey through the anonymous crosses, while his memory took him back to a day he would rather not remember. Wolfwood was still barely alive when they got him to the town doctor, but the doctor didn't have much hope for the preacher's survival. After a few tense hours, the doctor had informed then that Nicholas D. Wolfwood had died. He silently took Meryl and Milly back to their hotel and poured all three of them a stiff drink. 

He was almost halfway through the graveyard, directly across from the church's side door, when he sensed a person watching him. He didn't get the prickly feeling on the back of his neck, so he knew that the unknown person wasn't pointing a gun at him. "Who's there?" he called out. 

"If you're looking for a certain grave, you'll have to wait until it's light out," a voice replied. 

He froze. _It couldn't be,_ he thought. 

"Until it is light out," the voice continued, amused at the startled reaction he'd gotten, "you're welcome to enjoy the hospitality of the church." 

"I think that I will, thanks." 

"Just follow me, please." 

So he made his way across the graveyard and into the darkened church, following the preacher inside. He slung his bag over his shoulder as he entered. From the weak candlelight, the front appeared to be a normal church, until the doorways behind the preacher's podium became evident. Behind the doors, there was a short hallway, then two flights of stairs branching out to either side and a vague outline of a large room in front of them. They ascended the left staircase, and then took another left at the top. 

The preacher led him down another hallway, then pushed open a door, revealing a rather spartan room. One of the moons spilled its light from a window down the hall, backlighting the preacher, throwing his face into shadows. 

"It's not much, but it's clean." 

"It's fine... Nicholas." 

A soft bark of laughter broke the silence. "Good night, Vash." He turned to leave, but stopped as Vash spoke again. 

"Just one question." He paused. "Why?" 

A longer pause followed. "Because you were my friends. It was far safer for the three of you to think that I was dead. Safer for me, too." 

Vash couldn't argue. He could understand the sentiment, since he had been there before. "She mourned for you, very deeply." 

"Just as I mourned for her." Silently, he slipped away, closing the door behind him. 

Vash sighed and sunk down on the bed. He had the feeling that he wouldn't be getting much sleep. 

* * *

The noise was what originally woke him up, and he spent a few moments trying to remember where he was. When memory finally caught up to his consciousness, he rolled over on his side and sighed, trying in vain to catch a few more moments of sleep. There was a slight noise outside his door, and he hastily threw on his shirt, pulling his hair out of the collar. Then he heard a very timid knock on the door. 

"Come in," he said, hoping that it was Nicholas. 

The door opened and a young woman entered, clutching something metallic to her chest, staying near the protective aura of the doorway. Her eyes were fixated on a point somewhere over his shoulder. 

"Father Nicholas wanted me to see if you wanted anything done with your hair," she said, her nervousness all too clear. 

Vash fingered the long strands of his hair. The longer hair gave him a sense that he really could put down his gun forever and just lead a peaceful existence, but at the same time, he knew the practicality of keeping it in his normal style. Finally he smiled and bade the girl to come closer. 

He learned that her name was Rose, named after the city she was born in, and that she had been orphaned at the age of five when bandits had killed her parents. They talked steadily for almost an hour, giving him no time to brood and think, and he could tell when Rose was almost done when he felt his head grow lighter and felt the steady, soft breeze at his neck. 

"Father Nicholas said that you were Vash the Stampede," Rose breathed when she beheld her work. 

He turned to face her. "Yes, I am. Does that frighten you?" 

After a moment, she shook her head. "Father Nicholas says that we are all God's children, and God forgives us all. Father Nicholas should know, he wasn't always a priest." 

He cocked his head thoughtfully. "So what does Father Nicholas say about killing?" 

"He says to avoid it, but there are some occasions when you are forced to kill. He says that God will forgive you for self-defense." 

He nodded. "Thank you, Rose." 

She nodded her head in return and quietly left him to his thoughts after reminding him that breakfast would be served soon. 

_'...God forgives us all,'_ he thought. God may have forgiven all, but Vash was having a hard time forgiving himself. 

Breakfast was a vast and noisy affair, with well over one hundred children in attendance. There was the expected silence when he arrived, then normal conversation started again. He walked towards Nicholas, his red coat slung over his arm. He was once again dressed in his normal clothing; his holster strapped to his side, but noticeably didn't have his gun there. The older children watched him pass with a mixture of fear and curiosity. 

Sliding into the seat beside Nicholas, he quietly asked, "So what did you tell the children?" 

Nicholas shrugged. "Just that we had a visitor. You shouldn't be surprised that some of them recognize you, since that needle noggin of yours is quite hard to miss." 

He reacted to the old nickname by sticking his tongue out. 

"Very mature," Nicholas wryly commented. "Eat your breakfast; we have a long day of traveling ahead of us." 

"Us?" 

"You're not the only one to have unfinished business. Besides, the coffers are running low. I would have had to leave in a few days anyway. You just speeded my travel plans and destinations up a bit." 

* * *

More than a week later, in more than a few towns away from the orphanage, someone was not having the pleasure of a leisurely breakfast. Meryl Stryfe blew some of her dark hair away from her eyes and rested against the bar for a moment. Bernadelli Insurance had let both her and Milly semi-retire; taking only the cases close to the town they now called 'home' until - when or if - Vash reappeared. Already expecting the familiar hitch in her chest when she thought of Vash, it, along with the ache in her heart, were as familiar to her as breathing. She wished that he would come back. She knew that she would miss him when he went to the desert, possibly never to return, but she never realized how much. She also expected some kind of confirmation whether he was alive or dead. 

She sighed. Expect the unexpected when it came to Vash. 

Until the day he returned, she and Milly made ends meet with Milly's job, and her odd-and-ends jobs - like her waitressing in a bar right now. She was starting the last hour of a double shift, and her weary arms and legs, along with her rumbling stomach, let her know that it was way past quitting time. But still she soldiered on, fielding orders and questions about her mental health with ease. 

Around town, she and Milly were known as the two widows. With Vash's fate still uncertain, and Wolfwood definitely dead, neither of the two women said anything to contradict the opinion. The townsfolk took great pity on them both, a fact that sometimes grated against Meryl's nerves. The only downside to the town's opinion was that every eligible man in a three-town radius had tried to weasel a date out of either her or Milly. 

By the time her shift was over, she had turned down another three dates and a marriage proposal. Handing the only serving tray over to Alex, the dayshift waiter, she went to the back to change her clothes. Once she had done that, she gratefully drew her cape around her. The cold feel of the derringers tucked inside gave her a sense of security. The townsfolk didn't know what the two 'widows' kept under their capes, and neither woman sought out fights. 

Exiting back out into the bar, she joined Milly at a table for their morning tea. Midway through, the sounds of a commotion outside drew everyone's attention. A woman - Meryl couldn't tell who it was - ran in and yelled the one thing everyone had been dreading ever since the water pipe opened. 

"Bandits!" 

Both Meryl and Milly shot out of their seats, along with the initial wave of people to get outside and see what was happening. A band of seven bandits were standing in the middle of the street, guns out, threatening some of Milly's crew. 

"Hey! What do you think you're doing, you big bully?" Milly yelled. 

Meryl winced. If there was ever a time when they could use Vash... 

A snide, cold laugh interrupted her thoughts. "Well, well, if it isn't the two poor widows. Looking to rejoin your husbands, ladies?" 

Meryl and Milly shared a long, angry look. Almost as one, they turned back to the bandits. Meryl noticed that some of the pipe crew had taken advantage of their distraction and started to edge away, towards the safety of the buildings. 

"Miss Thompson, don't worry about us - just get back inside!" one man yelled. 

Several of the bandits laughed. One moved his gun until it was pointed at the one man who had dared to speak. "Shoot him!" a few bandits called out. 

Before the bandit could even put a little pressure on the trigger, there was an even louder noise from behind them. It wasn't the sound of a pistol - it could have only come from a stun gun. The man suddenly went flying into the air, landing several feet away. 

The laughter died away as everyone turned to see Milly, holding the stun gun with a competence that surprised everyone. Meryl felt coolness in her hands and knew that she had unthinkingly drawn two of the many derringers hidden beneath her cape. She knew that the odds were not good - six against two, with many unarmed man in the middle. Not very inspiring odds. 

"Now why don't you leave town - while you can?" Meryl asked, injecting a note of false bravado into her voice. 

The self-appointed leader (and speaker) laughed. "Based on that pathetic little display? Maybe you are really anxious to rejoin your husband." 

The wind blew across the street, rustling clothing in the silence that prevailed. Meryl's cape blew upwards with a particularly strong gust of wind, and one of the suns caught the metal of the derringers. Through the hair that blew into her eyes, she could have sworn that she saw a flash of red. 

_Great,_ she thought, _now I'm hallucinating.* _

"Perhaps," a new voice said, "you should listen to the ladies." 

Milly nearly dropped her stun gun in shock. Meryl had to admit to feeling rather faint when she placed the voice. 

"Yeah, you never know just who will be looking out of them." 

Now Meryl _knew_ that she was imagining things. 

Still, she heard herself call out. "Vash?" 

It seemed, with that one spoken word, full of longing, to part the people as they turned to look. 

Six very fast shots sent six guns flying to the dirt. Gasps arose from all over the street. Standing directly in front of them were two men, one dressed in black, and one dressed in red. The man in black had a cigarette dangling from his lips while one hand held up a monstrously huge cross. The other man had spiky blonde hair, a red coat, and yellow sunglasses that reflected the rising suns. He held a simple six-shooter. 

"Vash!" 

The bandits got very nervous. There weren't too many people named Vash and wore a red coat. They reached the simple conclusion that the man standing before them was the 60 billion double dollar man. 

The barrel opened, ejecting the six spent shells, and Vash calmly replaced them with new ones. 

The bandits looked at him, then each other, and did the only sensible thing - they ran for the hills. 

"That was fun," Wolfwood commented, his cigarette moving up and down with his lips. Lowering his Cross Punisher, he inhaled deeply on the cigarette. 

Neither Meryl nor Milly could get to the two men fast enough. Wolfwood had the good sense to remove the lit cigarette from his lips, but didn't get time to exhale before Milly's lips crashed into his own. When they finally parted, Milly smiled and blew smoke into the air. Meryl settled for wrapping her arms and Vash, squeezing him tightly, letting him know that he had been missed. 

"Mr. Vash! It's so nice of you to return! Meryl has missed you so much! And you brought Nicholas with you!" Milly gushed. 

Meryl and Vash shared a look through amber-tinted lenses. Neither had missed the way Milly addressed the priest. Then a rueful smile crossed his lips. "You missed me?" 

"Of course I did, you broom-headed idiot!" She was just about to really let him have it for worrying her like that, no contact in over a year, when her upcoming tirade was interrupted by a very warm pair of lips. 

She paid no attention to the gasping townsfolk, nor to Milly and Wolfwood - Vash was all she could think of. And she knew that although there would be many tears and hurt feelings from everyone, everything would be okay. 

Vash had returned. 

-fini 


End file.
